Title: Help Me
Pairing: Ryan/Michael
Word Count: 657
Rating: M, just to be safe.
Summary: "I never knew how deeply she'd scarred him." One-shot. Michael/Ryan. Slash, Lemon.
Warnings: This is SLASH. Meaning, that the pairing is gay. Homosexual. Whatever you want to call it. If you have homophobia, then I suggest you don't read this. You could be permanently damaged by your own ignorance. Also there is lemon (meaning sex).
Author's Note: This is mainly meant for myself, so I'm not expecting many reviews. But if you like it, I don't mind being let know. :)
I kissed him. Hard.
Then we were driving in his PT Cruiser, to his condo. We were up the stairs, into his bedroom, and locking the door. The actions so familiar to us we nearly didn't have to think. The only thing that mattered at that moment was my hands in his hair, touching his smooth skin, my lips on his.
We rolled, and he was on top of me, kissing away down my neck and my shirtless chest. His big hands were tangled into my dark hair as he flicked a nipple with his tongue; I took his chin in my hand and brough him up for a passionate kiss. He tasted like candy, so innocent and sweet. I was addicted to Michael Scott. He could be so incredibly annoying, so ignorant, so stupid, so childish and immature, but I couldn't love him had he not these qualities.
I heard him clear his throat, and he caught my wrist as I shifted slightly to the left. I looked up, confused, to his hazel eyes. I thought he wanted this.
"No...it's not that I...ummm...." he stuttered.
"What?"
I could see his eyes flickering to the drawers beside me, which I had unknowingly moved closer to.
"...I would prefer it if you wouldn't..spank me with the studded paddle. It hurts."
Oh my God.
I knew that Jan was kind of kinky, and most definately not submissive (especially to Michael). But that could seriously hurt him.
"Show me it." I said firmly, shifting away from the drawer to help him believe I wasn't about to do anything.
He shakily swallowed, then crawled to the nightstand. Opening the third drawer, he pulled out a thick, wide object with a handle. It was hot pink in color, with some wierd language written along the side of it. He reluctantly handed it to me.
The item now in my hands scared even me. The "studs" were actually screwheads sticking about half an inch out of the object. The paint on the handle was chipped and worn, meaning that it had been used recently and often.
I shivered.
Michael was eyeing the paddle with unmasked fear in his eyes. I never knew how deeply she'd scarred him.
With a faint growl, I tossed the ugly thing into the wastebasket. Never again would he see that.
"Hey," I said softly, moving closer to him. "I wouldn't hurt you on purpose like that."
He smiled a little when I warmly embraced him. Slowly turning over, he showed me the scars.
I couldn't describe it, but it made me want to toss up the contents of my stomach. Preferably on Jan.
Almost each scar was kissed softly before a big hand pushed me away by the shoulders onto my back, a little too roughly. But I didn't care, because I was a then little "occupied" being fucked underneath my boss for the next six hours.
End.